


The Keepers of Onslaught (Avengers #4)

by TAngel96



Series: The Echo Collection [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Cliffhangers, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Loss, Love, Mutant Powers, Mutants, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2018-12-14 09:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11780094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAngel96/pseuds/TAngel96
Summary: Dead.They're all dead.The team had been hit hard by the deaths of some members, but that didn't stop them from trying to move on. Well...all of them but one.Natasha Romanoff, torn by anger and heartbreak, went rogue in an effort to get revenge on the last few remaining villains that fled the battlefield that fateful day. She wasn't expecting to find an old friend in need of help.If only pain could dissolve as quick as it formed... The rest of the team stitched their hearts together, but their minds were severely affected by the war. With new team members on their side, they attempted to compose themselves in order to fight the new evil emerging. Only, he wasn't alone. The Keepers of Onslaught rose with immense power on their side, something that would eventually lead the team to their demise."The Battle Within Yourself Awaits."





	1. Short Sneak Peak

**Author's Note:**

> Three different adventures in one. Black Widow's, Spider-Man's, and my character, Echo's. The stories will definitely collide later on in the book, mashing together a ton of my favorite heroes! I left some out of the trailer for pure surprise. This also sets up the setting for book 5 ;D
> 
> Oh! I also made the trailer linked below :D I make a bunch of aesthetics and stuff for the characters on my instagram, so if you want to check them out, I'll be sure to list the username in the bio! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yw310tbwgeI
> 
> Recap: Chicago was nuked. The Avengers were hunted down by the government. Most politicians are dead, including the President and VP. Iceman, Cyclops, Hawkeye, and Jake died. This impacts the team in different ways. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Marvel/Fox owned Marvel rights, but I do own my characters and their stories. 
> 
> Warning: This story contains PTSD, and some scenes with panic attacks. Other than that, it talks about hardships with dealing with PTSD in different ways. Please be wary if this hits home with you.

_How does it feel to be home?_

A question I couldn't quite answer. I felt mentally exhausted. It dug down deep and carved into my bones. I often didn't want to leave the apartment Steve and I had bought in Brooklyn. Sometimes I'd find myself staring at nothing in particular, my mind coursing with regret and horrible memories. Steve would express his worry and concern, but I'd catch him in his own similar moments. I told myself it would get better.

It hadn't.

The easiest part of my day was looking at my friends and family and feeling my heart swoon. They were the hope that everything would get better.

Eventually.

The hardest part of my day was putting a smile on my face and telling everyone that I was going through some kind of reverse culture shock. A hard readjustment to the life I once lived.

The movies always made it look so simple going from the battlefield to back home. The hero saves the day and goes back to the loving family or the cozy home they had once left. No repercussions, disasters, loss, tragedy. Just one big happy ending.

And it's complete bullshit. 

The thing is you never leave the battlefield. A piece of you is always there, whether it be in the heart, spirit, or mind. It's almost like an itch you can't scratch. A memory that couldn't be forgotten. It had become my origin of insanity.

Even the other Avengers were screwed up in their own way. Peter put his heart and soul into crime fighting. Steve attempted to relax into the calm life with me, but things were still off. Tony stuck himself in the Avengers' tower working on new designs for armor and weapons. Banner had taken a long vacation with his girlfriend, Betty, and kept in touch every now and then. Natasha had gone rogue and none of us had heard from her since she disappeared without a trace. We looked for her for weeks, but to no avail.

The Avengers weren't at peace. We were restless, exhausted, anxious, and remorseful.

How does it feel to be home? Hauntingly beautiful is one way to put it. Another way is it feels like I'm falling forever into an abyss with no grasp on anything. Whenever someone asks me this question, whether it's Aunt May, Pepper, Logan, Jarvis, Wanda, or anyone else, the answer is always the same.

All I can muster up is a small smile and say _good_.


	2. The Return of Black Widow

"What are you doing, Nat?"

 _His_ voice cut into Natasha's thoughts, causing her to miss a beat in her step. She trained her jade eyes forward, not daring to look anywhere else. Ignoring him was the best choice in order to keep her sanity in check. Natasha shoved her hands into her dark coat pockets, feeling the cold chill of the night brush up her sleeves. Her black wig's locks flowed behind her, leaving her ears unprotected from the nippy air.

The streets lacked an abundance of people, even if it was only two in the morning. Soft music from bars and nightclubs drifted through the silence of the night. The stars twinkled above, putting on a show for the moon as they always had. Dogs barked in the distance, while small animals scurried around in alleyways. Street lamps dimly lit the small aged street. _Has it really been that long since I've been here in…?_ Nat paused her thought immediately. Her brow furrowed as her green eyes narrowed in confusion.

What city was she in? How long had she been on this hunt? What day was it? Year? When was the last time she talked to her friends?

Questions piled higher; yet, she had no answers. Natasha's eyes flickered to a colorful advertisement for beer. _Romanian. That's right. I'm here fo-_

"Hello? Earth to Nat?" A figure stepped in front of her.

Clint Barton.

It was like he was ripped straight from the photo on her main cell phone. Blond, bright blue eyed, and bushy tailed Clint from when they first met stood in front of her. No wounds, no dead gaze, no stench of death…She wished he was the real deal.

But Clint was _dead_.

"Not here…" she managed to whisper softly without having her voice break. Natasha sucked in a breath and averted her eyes down to the sidewalk. She side-stepped around him, even if he was a figment of her imagination. Catching a glimpse of him shoved a knife through her heart, cracking it as if it were made of glass.

Yet, she felt no pain.

"You can't ignore me forever!"

He was wrong.

One day, he wouldn't be there anymore. Could be months from now. Years. Maybe when she's old, he'll finally be out of her guilty mind. Until then, she had to use all of her power to bear with it.

Natasha turned the corner and calmly walked to her small flat. It wasn't home, but…it was something. She played with the small burner phone in her hand, contemplating if she should check up on Steve, or Tony. From what she had seen on TV, Tony worked with Pepper more in the company. Steve, besides his daily runs, didn't get out much. At least, the paparazzi and other civilians didn't see him. Remembering how bad he got after Peggy died crossed her mind, and only made her clutch the phone more.

A chill ran down her back as she felt someone's presence behind her. Footsteps couldn't be heard, but the energy emanating off of them sparked her internal alarm system. A deep breath released from her lungs as she kept her head steady. Could be a coincidence that someone is walking out on the street. Could be bad.

Natasha took another turn into a nearby restaurant. Without paying attention to the greeter and the host, she shoved passed towards the bathrooms. When she was out of sight, a quick walk through the kitchen brought her to the back exit. The heavy green door shut behind her with a clunk.

The night air greeted her face once more, and the silence it brought soothed her. She hopped over the fence and trailed passed a few buildings before she stopped once more. If the guy was following her, now would be the time to strike. Nat listened in for a moment, searching for the sounds of shallow breaths. They were the next best thing if she couldn’t hear footsteps. Murdock taught her that much way back when.

Left.

The man whipped around the corner, pointing his gun right at Natasha's face. Before he could pull the trigger, she yanked his arm to position it beneath hers. Bang. The bullet hit the ground. Natasha shoved her knee into his abdomen. The gun stayed firm in the man's hand until Nat twisted his arm. It fell to the ground, going off once more.

"He has a knife!" Clint called out from the sidelines.

The man swung with his other hand, barely grazing Natasha's jacket. She jumped backwards; her leg jutted out as she ducked down in a quick move and swung underneath his. He fell, but quickly caught himself. Natasha kicked him.

One of the man's ribs cracked, causing him to cry out. He yanked Nat's foot from right underneath her. She fell alongside him, watching out for the knife. The stranger came at her rapidly, so she pushed him back and sent a kick right to his face.

"Knife!" Clint yelled.

The knife scratched against Natasha's pants, cutting right through them and into her leg. She yelped, but bit it back and kept pushing. The man kicked her backwards, just in time for him to reach for the fallen gun.

Natasha rolled to the side and ducked down behind a dumpster. Bullets rang off into the night, yet didn't hit her once. Indents formed on the dumpster's side, and the crushed bullets clinked onto the floor. Nat listened as the man got closer. Timing it perfectly, she used all of her strength to push the dumpster into the man, knocking him down.

The Black Widow slammed her foot down onto the man's hand. He immediately released the gun as a shrill cry left his lips. With her next move, she shoved her shoe right into the man's face, rendering him unconscious. Natasha exhaled, putting her hands on her hips for a second to breathe.

"That was close."

She ignored Clint and picked up the man's weapons. When this man woke up, he'd want to be anywhere else than with her.  

"You deserve a much better life than this, Nat."

It was as if he were reading her thoughts. Then again, he was a figment of her imagination. "And what if I don't?" Natasha finally turned to him, yearning to lock eyes with the man she had fallen in love with. The man that had once brought her back to sanity disappeared, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the body next to her.

 

 

Natasha slowly walked through the hallway, one agonizing step at a time. Her black heels clicked against the cold, cement ground. Mold clung to the corners of the copper-toned stone walls as water dripped from the ceiling. Mice scurried along the floor, but took one look at her and sped away in the other direction. Nat's green eyes focused on nothing in particular, staring blankly at the empty hall. Her voice echoed as she sang calmly in Russian. "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout."

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

Natasha pushed her wig's black hair behind her ear. Her hands smoothed out the crinkles in her crimson dress, tracing along her curves. Her lips twitched slightly at the words clawing its way out of her throat, "Down came the rain and washed the spider out." She flinched at the memory of Clint's death and her blood boiled within her. She grazed her finger on an old wooden table stocked full of weapons. She searched them over with one quick sweep and gracefully picked one up.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

"Out came the sun and dried up all the rain…" Nat ran her hands over the small blade. A sharp, ridged, shark toothed edge nipped at her fingers. The cold metal sent a chill through her body on contact. Her heart beat faster as adrenaline danced through her system like an addicting drug.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

She stopped in front of a brown door. "And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again." Natasha had hit rock bottom, but she wouldn't let one death take her down. She climbed out of her rut of depression and became death itself. The Black Widow was back and eager to live up to her namesake.

Game time ends now.

She opened the door and the loud creaking scratched against her ear drums. Her eyes flickered to the big man tied to the chair in the middle of the room. Demidov Fyodorovich worked as a security guard at an underground mutant's club. She knew that much by seeing the badge in his pocket. The firearm he carried took two seconds to dismantle.

Without a doubt, Omega Red or Saturna sent him.

Natasha believed in one thing in this moment. Justice for the loss of her loved one. Steve would argue that murder wasn’t justice. Go to some lousy court, get sentenced, and put in jail was the 'right' thing. That's what Steve, and even Matt Murdock, doesn't understand. The villains never stay in jail. Saturna would get free, and then she'd be terrorizing people once more. In Nat's mind, you deserve whatever you made someone else go through.

Demidov's dark eyes looked up at her with disinterest. He refrained from moving much, and his expression didn't change from its blank state. Maybe he knew what it was like to be interrogated. Maybe he didn't know what he got himself into.

"If you're a security guard for the Hellfire club, what on Earth are you doing trailing _me_ down?"

A thought intruded on Natasha's mind. _I do not answer to dead people._

"Big talk for someone who's in a tight spot." She tilted her head as she watched his every move. A flicker of the eyes. The corners of his lips as they jumped upwards into a sly smile. She read him like a book. Demidov thought he had the upper hand. Thought he could get out simply by psyching her out and using her own thoughts against her. The last person who tried that ended up in an Asgardian prison. "Where are the people that hired you?"

No answer. This guy was either smart, or really underestimated her. Natasha punched Demidov incredibly hard in the jaw, causing his face to jerk to the left. “Where are they?” Natasha kept herself composed, her words threatening to inch towards increasing her current volume.

The man spit some warm blood onto the ground near Natasha’s feet. He grimaced, pain jolting up into his jaw from his loose molars. “I do not know who you talk about.” A small, crooked smile formed on his lips as his eyes darted away.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” she retaliated; her knuckles ached already. She yearned to punch him again in his goddamn face for spouting out such a lie. It was written all over his expression. “You’re sloppy. Saturna and Omega Red are fools.” She pushed the blade against his cheek, sliding it down with pressure. Blood emerged from underneath his skin along the trail all the way down to his jaw.

He winced, but didn’t move a muscle. “You do not know the mess you are in, little American.”

Natasha bit back her snarky replies and leaned in closer to him, her face near inches from his. Her lips curled upwards as she stared into the eyes of a dead man. In Russian, words fell off of her tongue with ease, “You don’t know who you’re messing with. Choose your actions wisely.”

Reading her thoughts only made things worse. The man’s dark eyes widened, fear glistening in them against the dim light. “Are you....?” He stopped abruptly. Saying the name was a threat to oneself. Imagine saying _Bloody Mary_ three times and having her kill you, but infinitely worse. The woman standing in front of him was a ghost. A myth. The real Black Widow had been dead for so long. The Avengers poisoned her. Now, she was back and taking actions into her own hands.

She pulled her wig off, releasing her red curls to flow against her shoulders. Natasha tossed the wig aside and nearly laughed at the fearful man. “The Black Widow? Go ahead. Say it. It’s not going to change your chances of survival.”

“I’m a dead man,” he muttered lowly. He peered at the ground, gently rocking himself back and forth. No God, mutant, or human could help him now. All that was left was the agonizing wait. “Kill me. Spare me the torture.”

Natasha eyed the weapon in her hand, and allowed her eyes to flicker back to the man. “Now where’s the fun in that?” She shoved the blade into his right leg, causing him to cry out. Her hand held firm onto the handle, twisting it a bit in the muscle. "Get to talking. Your other leg is next."


	3. Normality

Sleep never sounded so good.

I've thought it before, but past me has no idea about the shit storm ahead of her. That whole year still haunts me. But now? Sleepless nights were now the bane of my existence.

I opened my groggy eyes and stretched my arms above my head before sighing to myself quietly. The apartment was silent, but there were many noises on the outside. Cars. Parents yelling at kids to go to school before they're late. Yelling. Honking. People on the phone a floor above. Showers going off. Televisions on cartoons or the news. It was only eight in the morning and everything was already so loud.

Did I want to get out of bed? No…no. Not really. There was nothing to do, and honestly, the lack of energy made it worse. I closed my eyes as I listened to the neighborhood. _Relax…Relax…_

Then silence.

I let out a small gasp. I couldn't move. My limbs froze to their spot. Panic built up inside of me, twisting my stomach every which way. An excruciating ache shot up both of my legs from the knee up. Limbs snapping. Bones shattering. The chorus of screams came back. An explosion. The death song of my passed friends. Yelling out, collapsing onto Kitty for dear life.

My body jolted up from the bed, and I clung to the wall to keep my balance. I inhaled deeply as I shook my head to get the sounds out. They always came back. The memories hadn't faded. Sometimes I could see them crisp and clear, as if I were living in the moment. Others, it seemed like I watched a movie, starring me and the horrible nightmare of battle.

My hand clawed at my chest for a moment in an attempt to push out all of the emotions piling out of the vault within my heart. To get my mind off of it, I rushed to the kitchen and immediately started making breakfast. Shaking, I put some coffee grinds into the maker. _Focus…Focus…_

Exhale.

One breath. Two. Three.

My heart rate decreased steadily. The shake in my hands stayed, yet no matter how much water I spilled, I persisted. Daily tasks kept my mind off of…that. The past. The horrible ending to the story I chose to be a part of. I pushed the button on the coffee maker, getting it set up for Steve's arrival. He always loved fresh coffee in the morning. I brushed my hair out of my face with the back of my hand and sighed.

_We're all okay. Don't worry._

Keys jangled behind the front door, and after a few seconds of fiddling, Steve opened the front door. Somehow, his exhausted eyes sparkled bluer than the crashing waves of an ocean. Adrenaline rush, maybe? I don't know. Either way, it's better than the dead look in his eye as he stares off into nothingness some nights. Steve ruffled his matted hair and smiled that pretty boy smile at something that was said.

Sam Wilson followed close behind, both of them sweating through their work out gear. Sam laughed wholeheartedly, patting Steve on the back. His dark eyes landed on me; his lips stayed curled up into a smile. "Hey Lilly," he declared, sitting down at the kitchen table and set down a new newspaper. The stench of pure man and must fluttered throughout the room.

"Hey." I waved subtly, putting on a smile for both of them. "Coffee should be ready in a few minutes." Steve brushed his fingertips against mine as he passed by, lingering for a second before letting go. He talked to Sam a bit more about the previous conversation as he got some water.

Their run lasted longer today. They might've decided to take a longer route. Got ambushed by a few fans. Maybe Steve talked about what was going on. In the underbelly of our lives, there was unhappiness. Harsh memories. Abandonment issues. Steve had more strength than I did to confront what was really going on within our minds.

I picked up little bits of their conversation, but this bit caught my attention the most. Sam cleared his throat and nodded, answering whatever Steve had said. He sat there, composed calmly and almost relaxed. Then, he spoke, "I've been trying to track Bucky, but I lost him somewhere in Russia. I should be able to find him again soon, but he keeps dropping off the map when I get a lead."

Steve stayed quiet for a moment, bobbing his head in agreement. He played with the cup in his hand, his mind clearly elsewhere. Memories of Bucky. The last time he saw him. How worried he was for his tortured best friend. His blue eyes darkened as his pink lips formed a tight line.

Picking up the newspaper, I sat down and started reading the front page headline. _Anti-Mutant Protestors Attacked at Rally_. My brow furrowed as I continued reading the article, slowly sinking into the chair. Mutants peacefully and silently protesting for their rights and beliefs, until the anti protestors attacked. There was so much hate going around. Mutants. Superheroes. Vigilantes. No one was safe anymore because of Chicago and the fall of the government. So much turmoil, and not enough safety. The country was a freaking powder keg just waiting to go off. I threw the newspaper onto the table, crossing my arms immediately after.

A frown formed on Steve's face once he saw the headline. His eyes flickered to mine. "The world is different now. We have to lead the charge to improve it."

"Those protestors were peaceful. How can we lead the charge when my own people get attacked for trying?" I lowered my voice towards the end. I wasn't trying to start a fight or a debate. We both want to change the world, but at this point, I felt like I couldn't even help myself. "Plus, this headline deceives customers into thinking that mutants attacked the protestors, not the other way around."

"We can only do so much at a time, Lilly. One step at a time. Okay?" Steve set his hand on my arm, heat emanating off of his skin. His expression softened, a glimmer of hope crossing his eyes. "It'll be okay."

Seems like that's our catchphrase nowadays.

We left our sanity in the hands of hope. _It'll be okay._ As if society weren't crumbling around us. As if we could somehow empower the future generation to instill change. How would we do that? What if we're too late? What if hope died at the last battle?

Before I could answer, someone knocked on the door. I got up, leaving the boys to their conversation. Mentally preparing myself first, I exhaled and stretched my hands out. More socialization. More fake smiles. Some genuine happiness here and there.

Our friendly neighborhood Deadpool stood on the other side of the door. He held a bag from some local fast food place up to the peep hole. I opened the door, greeting him by name. In an instant reaction, he responded, "Wow, you've seen better days."

I rolled my eyes. Classic Wade. One minute, I'm happy to see him. Then I remember what he's _actually_ like. Not a horrible human being…Just a loveable one you want to punch in the mouth sometimes. It's not like he's wrong, though. I was just hoping no one would notice. "One of these days, I'm going to kill you Wade."

"It wouldn't be the first time, Pookie."

"And it won't be the last if you keep it up with the nicknames," I grumbled, more to myself than him.

"You are really feisty in the mornings. I like it." Wade passed by me to get inside the apartment. "I was going to surprise Spider-Man with these, but our favorite webshooter wasn't home. So, I brought breakfast burritos for everyone!"

"I think that makes up for the insult." I swiped my hand at the bag, attempting to take it from him to see the contents inside. Even if the bottom of the brown bag dripped from grease, the food smelled mouth-wateringly delicious.

Wade lifted it higher, just out of my reach, and wiggled his finger at me. To taunt me more, he got onto face level with me, staring me straight in the eye. "I bought 'em, I distribute them."

I narrowed my eyes, bringing up a valuable point, "Since when do you pass up the opportunity for someone else to do something for you?" Over the passed few years, Wade let us do most of the work. Although, when it came to dirty work, he handled the killing and clean up.

"This deals with food, Lil. Food is important to me." Deadpool turned away towards the guys sitting at the table. He showed off the bag with his other hand, as if he were some game show model. "Who's hungry?" He passed around two breakfast burritos to Steve and I, with five remaining in the bag once Sam declined.

I grabbed mugs and set them down on the table. I questioned as I poured the steaming hot coffee, "Why are there five extra?"

Even though I couldn't see Wade's face, I could feel the disappointed stare he was sending my way. His voice softened, and he motioned his words with his hand on his chest, "Come on, Lilly. You know those are for me."

Sam crossed his arms and glanced at Steve. "Steve owes me this _great breakfast_ he's always talking about. Apparently my homemade breakfast wasn't good enough for Captain America."

After taking a bite, Steve smiled and covered his mouth with his hand. "Hey, I never said that! It was quite filling." He set the burrito down and stood up. "Alright, tell me what you want and I'll make it right now."

Wade looked between both of them. "Wait, can I trade my burritos for this great breakfast?"

As the guys chatted away, I took a few bites of my food. Delicious swirls of eggs, jalapenos, sausage, and bacon danced around my tongue. Before I knew it, the kitchen bustled with life. Steve at the stove cooking up some fresh food. Sam leaning against the counter, deep in conversation. Wade inhaling a breakfast burrito and laughing at whatever was said. I could get used to mornings like this. People I love. Mouth watering food. All of my worries and thoughts washed away. I lived in the moment, and man, was it sweet.

With all of the talking here and there, and the guys munching on their American Man made breakfast, I had lost track of time. Hours had passed, which only gave us so little time to get to where we needed to be. I looked at the clock and almost jumped out of my chair. "Steve, your class starts in an hour. We should get going."

Sam inquired as he played with his remaining food, "What class?"

I grabbed the empty plates off of the table and set them into the sink. "I convinced him to be a substitute teacher for an art class at Xavier's School."

"Seems like you missed mentioning it every other time we've hung out.  What kind of art?" Sam looked at Steve, a half smirk plastered onto his face.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. This was something new for him. Telling friends that he actually followed one of his passions for once, other than justice. Other than what SHIELD, or even Fury wanted. Something solely for himself, and himself alone to divulge into in a creative space. "Drawing mostly. Little bits here and there. It's nothing too great."

I put my hands on his shoulders, squeezing a bit. I spoke the truth, "He's far too humble. His art is _amazing_." Steve's lips curled up into a shy smile.

Wade threw in a comment with a small laugh, "So, what you're saying is…You can draw me like one of your French girls? I'm in. I'll be your class model!"

Steve replied a bit quickly, "I'll take a rain check on that. I'm only a substitute teacher."

Sam looked at both of us for a moment, reading the situation. I felt him analyzing our happy expressions. Our posture. Our voices. How we glanced at each other. How our actions pushed each other to do more. Finally, he answered, "I'm glad you're pushing him to do more. How have you two been adjusting to being home?" The therapy session group leader in him peeked through his words.

"We're doing well," Steve responded, setting his hand on mine.

Deep down, I think Steve knew we weren't doing as well as we should have been. But we were doing well enough to not worry our friends. Worry only made things worse, and _that_ was a whole other mess we didn't want to get into.

I moved to get the keys to the car, avoiding this conversation altogether. "I'd love to keep chatting about this, but traffic is going to be _killer_ if we don't leave now." I looked directly at Wade, pointing my finger at him. " _Please_ leave this time. I don't want to come back to the apartment to find it ransacked. Or worse, littered in fast food boxes and broken items from you messing around."

Wade fake gasped, feigning hurt with his hand over his heart. "Lilly. I would _never_." Upon seeing my now Are-You-Serious expression, Wade huffed, "Okay. You're right. I better leave before I make this place a lot more fun."

"Not fun. Messy," I corrected him.

He shrugged. "Tomato, tomato."

As Sam and Wade got up to leave, we bid them farewell. A part of me wished they could stay longer, but Steve couldn't leave the class unattended when he agreed to help. Plus, it would give me time to visit Kitty to see if she needed anything. 

_It'll be okay._


	4. New Encounter

The loud school bell rang, echoing inside of the classroom. The high school AP Biology students began to pack their stuff up, causing Peter to talk quickly, “Make sure to do your homework and be ready for tomorrow’s lab. It’s a big portion of your grade.” Some students nodded, while others talked to their neighbors about their plans for the night.

Peter sighed as he set the piece of chalk down on the stand. He wiped his hands, and stared at the pile of scholarship papers he’s disregarded for the passed week. The kids were eager to know how to improve, and a small tinge of regret formed in Peter’s mind. He should’ve commented on them.

Too many things had been on his mind.

"Mr. Parker?" A voice caught Peter's attention. One of his students, Aisha, stood in front of his desk, waiting patiently for an answer. Her dark eyes watched him in curiosity, trying to decipher what rested in his mind. The light coming in from the windows shined on her dark complexion, making her glow. "May I have my paper back?"

He scratched the back of his neck, scrunching his face up in embarrassment. The students were supposed to come first. Their lives mattered. Their education mattered. Peter had put it aside for far too long. If he kept it any longer, he'd be letting the students down. That's not what he signed up for when he became a high school teacher. To be the light in the dark was an honor, but that was Spider-Man. Peter Parker had to live up to it in his own way, and the way to do that was be the teacher the kids could come to when they needed help at all times. So far, he'd failed. "I haven't gotten to it yet. I will hand it back tomorrow. Is that okay?"

Aisha frowned, and the light in her eyes disappeared. She looked down, nodding her head slowly. That only made Peter feel worse. He scrambled to follow up with a response, "I'm sorry it's taken this long. Things have been chaotic lately. I promise I will give it back tomorrow, full to the brim with comments and advice."

"Okay…"

Being a teen was rough. Looking back on it, Peter hated those moments where he felt his skills weren't enough. As if he weren't good enough for the world. Those times where the bullying got to his mind. Those times where applying for scholarships put so much anxiety on him. The same seemed to be happening with his student. "Look, Aisha. There's no need to worry. You're going to rock this paper."

She scoffed with a half smile, "You haven't even read it yet."

"I don't need to read it to know that. Your grades in this class prove it. The people giving out this scholarship would be stupid if they passed you up." With confidence, Peter held up his hand for a high five. "You got this."

Upon hearing those words, Aisha stood up straighter. The half smile flourished into a bright full one, and she gave her teacher a high five. "I got this. Thank you, Mr. Parker." Aisha tightened the strap of her backpack before heading out the door.

Peter exhaled, gleeful that he smoothed the situation over. Now? Now he was left with more work. Back to the grind…it never ended. He packed up his belongings and headed out the door for the community library near his apartment.

Some of the things in New York didn't change. Even if it had been two years since the bomb fell in Chicago, life went on. Citizens herded on the sidewalks, headed to work or a late lunch. The streets came to a full stop when the traffic became too much. Cars lined the lanes, nearly bumper-to-bumper. Vendors on the street, people looking for taxis, tourists taking pictures…sometimes it felt as if none of the horrid events ever happened.

Peter wished it had been that way all the time.

The past still seemed so vivid, and with Natasha's disappearance, it only made his stomach twist even worse. As he walked through the sea of people, he flexed his right hand. The urge to make another phone call spiked. It might've come across as annoying, leaving so many voicemails and all, but it was the least he could do. Showing concern was what good friends did. Maybe another call wouldn't hurt.

Giving into his urge, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. It rang..and rang…and rang, until the voicemail initialization popped up. When the beep occurred, he spoke, "Hey…Natasha." He thought for a moment, contemplating his next few words as he continued to walk down the street. "I've left you so many messages. Your inbox isn't full, so you must check them."

His brown eyes glanced around at the people around him to make sure he wouldn't slip up. The last thing he needed was to be giving out crucial information about his identity. He allowed the pain to pour out of his mouth, "You may not want to be back here, but we _miss you_. _I_ miss you. Please _come home_. It's not good to be alone during times like this." He inhaled deeply, "I-"

The robotic voice popped up again. "End of message. If you would like to-"

Peter ended the call quickly, smashing his finger against the phone. He shoved it back into his pocket, frustrated that he couldn't allow himself to vent. It was even more frustrating that Natasha cleared her inbox, yet wouldn't return any of his calls. He didn't care if she contacted anyone else, as long as she contacted him so he could know she was all right. He let out a breath, his heart aching, "I don't want to be alone…"

Broken. Peter sulked in his broken state. It was that feeling of despair in the back of his mind, mumbling memories to himself. That feeling of helplessness as he fought so hard on those battlefields, but still ended up with so many casualties. That feeling of  emptiness of being surrounded by friends and family, yet feeling so alone simultaneously, utterly decimated Peter's heart.

The other Avengers dealt with their own grief in different ways. Peter saw it. Bothering them with his own would only make things worse. Working out only numbed the pain with adrenaline. Talking to others was definitely a no-go. Finding a new hobby grew old too quick. So, he took the emotions and channeled them the only way he knew how.

Fighting crime.

Crime rates rose highly when the government fell. Think of _The Purge_ actually coming true, and amplifying that by threefold because of criminals with powers. That's how Peter liked to describe it, anyway. Where there's crime, there's always a crime-stopper. Vigilantes didn't fit the name, and certainly since he helped save the entire world, he had hoped others wouldn't call any of the heroes that. All he wanted to do was save people.

That's exactly what he did during the nights with Deadpool and their new fellow organized crime stopper, Daredevil. Lilly had mentioned him before, and after looking him up, it seemed like the most perfect opportunity to form _Team Red_ , as Deadpool put it so _cleverly_.

The life he had been thrown into, especially after the war, still affected him emotionally. Thoughts turned on him, decreasing the hope he had in the world. After the attack on the mutants, the state of the world he once knew decreased rapidly. Peter still held onto the hope that once the government became a strongpoint once more, events like that would end. Battling against the tide felt like the only right thing to do.

 He fought for his own health. For the future of mankind. For his friends.

For Lilly.

A mental note formed in his mind to visit her later to see if she had gotten better.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted around the street, luring in customers every minute. When someone opened the door to the shop, the powerful smell of baked bread smacked Peter in the face. Chatter increased in volume as he entered the place. As far as he could tell, the place was packed. The hot air from the steam mixed with body heat from others. The place had been decorated in mostly wooden furniture, matching the mocha walls. Pictures hung up depicting fun times with friends or gorgeous scenery provided a good distraction for the customers waiting in line.

An excitement built up inside of him when his mind wandered to thoughts about the upcoming night just hours away. The adrenaline, the crime fighting, the view of the lit up city…it put a smile on Peter's exhausted face. _The loss of sleep is worth it._

Peter headed out the door with his steaming cup of coffee, giddy for when he finished the commentary on the papers so he could get to the real fun stuff. Not even five feet from the door to the library, he accidentally bumped into someone. The coffee aimed to spill on them, but in a split second, turned back and hit him instead. Peter hissed at the heat and stretched his shirt away from his torso to prevent most of it from touching his skin.

A woman's voice quickly apologized, "Oh my gosh! I am _so_ sorry."

"It's…it's okay. My fault." Peter's cheeks darkened in pink. Flustered, Peter looked down at his dirty white button down shirt. _This stain will never come out. I wonder what cleaner Wade uses…_ He waved his coffee covered hand to get some of it off. Mild confusion took over his mind, warring with how flustered he felt. _How could the coffee spill on me?_

"Let me buy you another coffee."

Peter immediately shook his head. "No, you don't need to do that. I think this is a sign I've had too much today anyway." That's when he took a minute to look at who he was talking to.

The natural sunlight brightened her smooth tan skin. Her dark brown hair contrasted with her nubilous blue eyes as she stared up at Peter. Confusion and concern sprawled all over her expression. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded, yet wasn't sure what else to say. It had been a while since he actually talked to someone other than his team, students, or coworkers. His body stiffened, feeling the anxiety as if he were in high school all over again.

The woman smiled sweetly, and slowly formed the sentence as she deepened her gaze. "How about dinner instead?"

Surprised, Peter's mouth dropped a bit, "Uhh…" He grinned like a fool and laughed for a short second. He almost spilled coffee on her, and she's asking _him_ out? _The world works in mysterious ways…_ Thinking back on it, it had been a while since he went out to dinner with a girl. Hell of a long while. Over two years, and his heart couldn't bare to think of why. "Can I at least know your name first?"

"Hallie Beckett." She held out her hand.

Almost returning the gesture with the wet coffee stained hand, Peter quickly switched hands and shook hers. A good wave of butterflies fluttered about in his stomach. "Peter Parker."

"Tomorrow good for you?" She kept her hand out, palm facing upwards. Peter peered at her in confusion, and right when he was about to ask why, she continued, "Your phone? So I can put my number in it."

A light turned on above his head. "Right." Peter handed her his phone, waiting in slight anticipation and nervousness. Was this girl serious? Did she really want to go on a date? _Do I even own a good shirt for a date?_ "Tomorrow is good."

Hallie typed in her number, saved it, and handed it back to Peter. Her dark blue eyes widened for a second. "Oh, and you dropped this." She lifted his wallet to eye level.

Confused even more, Peter stared at it, the gears in his mind turning on end to figure out how it had fallen out of his pocket. He slowly grabbed it, bringing it to himself as he contemplated. "…Thanks…"

"See ya, Peter." With a wink, she turned on her heels and walked away.

_What just happened…?_

Peter shoved his wallet back into his pocket and trudged on through the doors of the library. The giddy butterflies fought against his pondering thoughts. Too many emotions clashed, causing him to rub his temples in annoyance. _Stop. I got this._

He set his stuff down on an empty table surrounded by bookshelves and sunk down into the chair. Before the thought of Gwen Stacy could come across his mind, he shut down everything he felt and switched his brain into work mode. The music he put on through headphones clouded everything else, allowing his head to nod to the beat. With a pen, Peter got right to work on helping his students succeed.


	5. Lost and Found

The silence in the room screamed louder than those men ever did. 

Blood painted the water stained walls. It dripped slowly, crossing paths on the way down. The lights in the room swayed back and forth, illuminating the room in certain areas and shadowing others. Bodies lined the floor, limbs twisted around as if they were ragdolls. Natasha stood in the middle of it all, blood splattered on her fierce expression. Her chest heaved as her eyes stared forward, focusing on nothing in particular. The sound of her heartbeat erratically thumped in her ears. 

These bastards had nothing. No information. No money. Nothing even trade-able in value. They were gypped by their employer, who was clearly protecting Omega Red and Saturna from her wrath. Whichever member of the Hellfire club protecting them will meet their long, torturous fate eventually. 

A struggled inhale rose from one of the bodies. The man reached forward, latching onto the ground with his broken nails in an attempt to pull himself. Blood trailed down the front of his skull, dowsing in his face in crimson ravines. Natasha stepped on his leg, forcing him to stay put. He cried out in agony between ragged breaths. In a surge of urgency, he spurted out, “I will give you a name if you let me go! Please!”

The name of their employer? Is it someone in the Inner Circle? They’re untouchable. This could be a breakthrough. Natasha didn’t hesitate to jump at the offer.  “Talk.”

The man licked his lips sloppily, sucking in air when he could. He hesitated, indicating that he rethought about what he was doing. Before Natasha could put more pressure on his leg, he cracked, “Red Onslaught. His radical plans exceeded what the Hellfire Club originally wanted and they turned him away.” The silence he received in response caused him to panic. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

_ Then go. _

Natasha stomped on the man’s neck with a sickening crunch. 

She wiped her face off with her dirty shirt and discarded it. The clean sweatshirt she had thrown aside earlier now came in handy. In order to ponder about the name, she needed to calm down. As she put the sweatshirt on, she remembered something Matthew Murdock once told her about steadying her heart rate. 

Natasha walked out of the building and onto the cold street. 

_ Walk through the motions. Listen to the city. See it through other senses. Your heart will calm down… _ A sigh escaped her lips. Matt might’ve been full of bullshit, but he did know a trick or two on how to tap through Natasha’s mental walls. 

The benefit of hunting so late became apparent almost instantly. Hardly any engines echoed against the buildings, meaning few cars traveled. Gasoline hung lowly in the air. Yelling in two houses ensued, but the rest remained in slumber. The constant buzzing of the street lights flickered in and out as the old bulbs struggled to keep up with the power. Glass broke somewhere in an alley. The crisp, chilly night air burned her nostrils until a horrid stench hit her in the face. Piss. Garbage. Rotten food. Body odor. The overpass housed the city’s homeless. She didn’t realize she was already halfway back home. Too bad she didn’t have any money on her. 

Natasha put her fingers on her other wrist to test her pulse.  _ Back to normal. Thanks Murdock. _ A hint of a smile nearly blessed her lips, yet it disappeared when she heard  _ His _ footsteps behind her. 

“I see letting go of this grudge is going to be difficult,” Clint, or whatever vague version of him Natasha’s mind had created, spoke up. He waited for a minute, and was met with painful silence. He caught up to her in a half jog, the tone of his voice low,  “They need you back home, you know.”

_ Ugh. Did Murdock have any advice to get rid of voices? _

Ignoring him was the key. None of that mattered as long as those two butchers were still out there. The thought that those villains could kill more people at any moment made Natasha’s stomach churn. More loved ones lost on Natasha’s watch. How could she stand aside and let it happen?

“A lot of stuff is going down. Haven’t you watched the news?”

She hadn’t touched a television in god knows how long. This hunt called for complete isolation for invoking thought. Planning. Something, anything, that didn’t make Natasha feel like a horrible human being for ditching her team. Any answer would only make Clint retort a ridiculous comment.

A gasp of excitement broke the silence. “Look, Nat, a dog!” Clint ran over and knelt down next to it. Natasha stopped to look at the dog, but her eyes darted quickly over to the stranger sitting next to it. 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

Natasha’s breathing hitched. James? All the way out here? Why? With the way he looked, he had definitely seen better days. Even the days in the Red Room appeared better than this. In an instant, the pain of losing Clint was overshadowed with concern. 

His metal arm hid underneath the red long sleeve shirt and black gloves he had on. A ripped hat covered half of his stringy brown hair. Seeing him slightly shake emphasized how cold it truly was outside. The dog growled, drawing Natasha’s eyes over. The thin golden retriever curled up beneath a worn blue jacket. 

She knelt down and held her hand out to allow the dog to sniff her hand. When the possibility of the threat faded, the dog let its tongue hang out. Its tail wagged underneath the coat and a small twinkle lit up in its eyes. While petting the dog, she peered over at her fallen colleague. “James?”

The dead gaze he held remained for a moment longer. The agony emanated off of him, expressing how torture and guilt ate up his soul. Most of all, the rings around his eyes stood out. When he finally broke his concentration, a hint of recognition fell across his features. 

“Come on, James.” Natasha held her hand out. 

He hesitated. Then, with a small nod, he took her hand. Both stood up and dusted themselves off. He motioned towards his new companion, “I promised this dog I’d protect him from the other dogs.”

A small breath that resembled a chuckle managed to easily push through Natasha’s throat. With all the stories Steve told, only the truly genuine Bucky would protect a dog that reminded him of pre-war Steve. Maybe Hydra’s hold on him didn’t stay solidly rooted. 

And maybe...just maybe...this dog would portray one last gift that reminded her of Clint. A part of him that couldn’t live on now could with her. 

For a moment, she nervously glanced around for any visual confirmation of  _ Him _ . Nothing near the dog. No one watched idly from the sidelines. His voice never echoed in her ears, ranting on about something random or going home. It was utterly, and disturbingly, quiet. Maybe this was a sign that she was headed down the right path once more.

She nodded her head in the direction they were going, motioning to bring the dog with him. A small smile tugged at Bucky’s lips as he patted his legs for the dog to follow. He retrieved his jacket from the ground and silently walked on. 

Questions drifted across Natasha’s mind. She shoved her hands into her pockets and stared a few buildings ahead. "What are you doing out here?" 

"Got into the city two nights ago. Looking for a place to stay where no questions are asked."

Of course. Straight to the point. Simple. Nothing ever changes with him. "Good thing I found you then." Didn’t know how...or why she found him, but having company that doesn’t fully know what happened back home felt so refreshing. Without the guilt ridden glances and awkward silences, she was able to breathe and focus on revenge.

Natasha unlocked the door to her flat and let James walk in first with his dog. She turned on the light and locked the door behind her. The flat itself was hardly any bigger than a hotel room. Small black and white tiled kitchen on the left side. Yellow and green tiled bathroom on the right. A rickety bed and a dark oak nightstand were in the corner. A cork board dangled from a nail in the creme wall. An oak bistro table and set of chairs attempted to fill the empty space. Other than that, the room was void of furniture. She threw her keys down onto the table and sat down. "How long has it been since you relapsed?"

Bucky took his hat off and hung it on the back of the chair. He ruffled his matted hair as he glanced around, trying to avoid the question. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? When traveling, time is lost to the wanderer. He simplified his thoughts into one statement, "Since the attack on SHIELD." He hesitated, yet still grabbed the gun from the back of his pants and set it gently onto the table. "Just in case."

"James..." Her eyes were glued to the gun as painful memories emerged again. The fear of not being able to control your own actions or emotions. The fear of having the chance to hurt your loved ones. The fear of being the monster you were built to be. James placed that gun there for Natasha’s protection. If he were to relapse, it was a sign giving permission to end it. In the end, Natasha nodded. 

In a sense of hope, she confided in him, “Way back during our Red Room days...We had planned to leave it all for the fifth time around and actually committed to it.  _ To hell with those Russian bastards _ , you would always say.” Natasha paused and looked down at her clasped hands. “The only catch was I relapsed. I tried to kill you because that’s what they wanted me to do. When we fought, you brought me back.  _ You _ did that, James.” Her eyes flickered back up to meet his. “Don’t constantly live in fear of it happening. You saved me from it. I will not hesitate to do the same.”

Bucky bobbed his head slowly, running through the memory again and again. He yearned to remember it, but his mind had been wiped too many times to do so. He clenched his fist as a lump caught in his throat. How could he remember their days in the Red Room, but not remember anything like that? He switched topics to avoid the frustration, “I can sleep on the floor…”

“No. Take the bed. I wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyway.” No way in hell. There was too much on her mind. Too much at stake. Too many variables to consider. Not enough time. Natasha pet the dog one last time before leaning back in her chair. “I’ll get you clothes and food in the morning. Get some rest.”

If he did know one thing, it was Natalia was too damn stubborn. Arguing against her was pointless once she set her mind to something. He admired her for that. “Thank you.” Bucky set his jacket on the seat and called the dog onto the bed. The dog happily jumped up and ran in circles on the warm blankets. Bucky smiled and got comfy, allowing himself to rest easy for once. Soon enough, both of them were out like a light.

Should Bucky stay? Would calling Steve be such a bad idea? This wasn’t his fight, and having him there could easily escalate the situation. Then again, he was starting to gain his footing again The brainwash had faded enough to bring back some resemblance of the old James. If he leaves with the team, he could relapse. Can’t have that. No one on the team knows how it is like to go through that process. So, he would stay. For how long? Not sure. Natasha nodded to herself as a confirmation to stand up and plant herself into the indented piece of carpet in the corner.

A cork board hung up on the wall composed of intertwined connections of string, note cards, and photographs. Locations and dead ends held majority of the board. Targets of all kinds also tied into the loop ranged from lowly henchmen to the huge mutant  question marks that ran the entire crime ring syndicate. Most indicated towards the Hellfire club, but now a new player emerged. Natasha wrote in in big, bold lettering on the note card:  **RED ONSLAUGHT?**

She stepped backwards as she bit her lip. Her eyebrows furrowed together in contemplation and her arms slowly crossed themselves. Who were they? What did they want? What are they planning to do that even th _ e Hellfire club _ didn’t even want to be a part of it?


End file.
